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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481906">Coffee Stains On White Sheets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_infinite_variety/pseuds/my_infinite_variety'>my_infinite_variety</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Baby Jack Kline, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Coffee Shops, Dean Winchester Misses Castiel, Good Parent Dean Winchester, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Mistaken Identity, Parent Dean Winchester, Past Character Death, TheirLoveWasReal, Widowed Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:55:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_infinite_variety/pseuds/my_infinite_variety</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sees someone on the street he thought he's lost.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Their Love Was Real: a Destiel &amp; Saileen Fanworks Challenge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Coffee Stains On White Sheets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you for clicking on this story! this one is for prompt day 2: liminal space. enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>“Here you go. Have a nice day!”</p></div><div><p>Dean smiles as he accepts his coffee, slips a bill into the tip jar, and steps out of line to leave. It’s snowing today, harder than it has all year, and the snow bites at Dean’s hands and face as he steps into the open air. People are hustling down the sidewalks and between cars to get where they need to go, out and about despite the chill. He checks his watch for the time and it’s nearly half an hour before he has to be in for work.</p></div><div><p>Jack is safely dropped off at his daycare already, though a bit disgruntled and tired. He’d been teary-eyed as Dean had handed him over to Meg, reaching for his papa and begging for him to stay. One look into those clear blue eyes and Dean had almost relented, taking his baby boy back into his arms and cuddling him in bed until the afternoon. But there are only so many days he can call off until even Bobby hits his limit.</p></div></div><div>
  <p>Dean shifts his coffee into his other hand and digs around in his pocket for his keys, hurriedly trying to get into his car. He’s shivering, his nose and ears ache with the cold, but something at the edge of his vision flashes and he stops in his tracks. The snow is coming down hard. Snowflakes are piling up on his shoulders and in the bend of his elbow, but he can’t take his eyes off a man crossing the street, a black umbrella obscuring his head and shoulders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>But a tan trenchcoat hangs from his frame and well-ironed slacks peek out from underneath the hem. Dean can’t breathe, can’t bring himself to move a muscle, and he watches as the man reaches the other side of the crosswalk, picks his way through the crowd on the sidewalk, and disappears around a corner. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>And suddenly Dean is in motion, his coffee hitting the snow-covered cement with a crunch and a splash, and he’s dashing across the street weaving through the crowd. A name is on the tip of his tongue, but his throat is tight with emotion and he can feel his eyes heat up with tears. He narrowly misses being clipped by a minivan, the sound of a horn following him as he finally turns the corner. The man with the black umbrella and the tan trenchcoat stands in front of a window on the street, studying the display of a bookstore. His face is still hidden, umbrella hooked over his shoulder and concealing his profile, but Dean has to know.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The snow and ice are slick under his feet, but all of Dean’s focus is on him. He’s so close. Ten feet, five feet, barely a foot away with his hand reaching for the man’s shoulder when he turns around and all of the air in Dean’s chest rushes out in a wheeze. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Did you need something?” The stranger asks, a shadow of judgement and apprehension in his brown eyes. His sharp jaw is smooth and shaved, his lips thin, and his eyebrows neatly trimmed. He’s handsome, Dean notices absently, but handsome isn’t what he was hoping to find. Handsome isn’t what he dreams of at night and what he aches for in bed in the morning, so alone in the middle of a king-sized mattress meant for more than a lonely man and - on nights when the shadows in his son’s bedroom get too deep - a four-year-old boy. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No,” Dean says. His voice rings in his ears and he stumbles back, nearly slipping on the ice covering the sidewalk in patches where the salt didn’t fall. “I- I thought you were someone else. I’m sorry.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And he turns away, freezing hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched against the wind. When he picks Jack up that afternoon, worked to the bone and ready to fall into his bed in exhaustion, he hugs his son tightly in the parking lot of his daycare and chokes back tears as the little boy does his best to comfort him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s okay, papa. Me and daddy love you,” Jack says earnestly, his little arms trying their hardest to squeeze him. And Dean squeezes back just as hard until his laugh rings out like a bell and the air is a little easier to breathe. The plain gold chain around his neck with the band hanging from it burns against his skin, but he smiles a little easier and the two of them sing along to the goofy Beatles album on the way home, usually stuffed to the bottom of the little cardboard box under the seats. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Life goes on. </p>
</div>
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